


goodnight socialite (let’s dance until the sky crashes down)

by bukkunkun



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Dancing, Dubious Consent, Graphic Description of Corpses, I Don't Even Know, M/M, Macabre, Metaphors, Monsters, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Obsessive Behavior, POV Third Person Limited, Temporary Character Death, Vore, god please just take this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 11:03:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16474331
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bukkunkun/pseuds/bukkunkun
Summary: A waltz this time, beautiful and romantic, and Bendy spun the lifeless Henry around the floors of Joey Drew Studios again, with all the glee of a madman.They’ll dance, and dance, and dance, for all eternity.Contains spoilers for chapter 5!





	goodnight socialite (let’s dance until the sky crashes down)

**Author's Note:**

> > the batim fandom better not be made of cowards, i want to see monsterfucking the moment i step on that ao3 archive
>> 
>> — spookkun MARK OF MASTERY 2018 (@trickscd) [27 October 2018](https://twitter.com/trickscd/status/1056005290280120322?ref_src=twsrc%5Etfw)
> 
> the specific brand of monsterfucking i wanted to see was not available so i had to go grow my own crops and eat em. this was suuuuper headcanony and i'm sorry it's a mess but please take my offering.. sheep sheep sheep....
> 
> written in celebration of halloween 2018! 
> 
> god batim really took me by surprise with how much i fell in love with it after binge-watching [8BitRyan's playthrough](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=hbs8E6xZAWQ&list=PLSIYrUsOI8i7ib-a3iRrEkKpBQahgFXRd) of it. Immediately went and bought it. I'm currently on fetchquest: the chapter!
> 
> anyway, I hope someone will enjoy this. i don't know if anyone will, but this is self care and i liked it so i hope you will too.

Sometimes Sammy Lawrence does have his uses after all.

Music filled the halls of the creaking, breathing labyrinth of ink, and Bendy shuffled on unsteady feet, carrying with him his burden through the corridor to the _tap-tap-tap_ of a cha-cha coming from the sanctuary of the damned below them.

Today was a cha-cha, red rose petals like the smattering of blood that littered the ink that trailed after Bendy’s heels.

 _Tap-tap-tap,_ and Bendy danced again.

His partner was less than cooperative, but it mattered very little.

He dipped the body in his arms, and a crowbar clattered to the ground.

Lifeless, cold, limp, Henry slipped through Bendy’s arms, and the Ink Demon looked down at the body sprawled on the floor, deep red mixing with the black that bled from Bendy’s amorphous skin.

Life, bleeding with colour he’d never known, mixing with the inky blackness of the dark that Bendy had always known.

“ _Ah, maybe next time._ ” Sammy’s voice was muffled from his sanctuary, but Bendy could hear him just fine.

As he was the Ink, so he could hear his subjects.

Next time, Sammy said. Maybe he should take the man’s advice.

With a groan reserved for the creaking, weary bones of a great beast that had yet to be laid to rest, Bendy bent over Henry, and absorbed him.

* * *

Henry burst out of the inky deep, choking, gasping for the breaths that none of the damned that walked this hell needed, and clung to the Bendy statue for purchase as he pulled himself up onto his feet.

“Again,” he panted, and moved onward again.

* * *

“ _Hgk—!_ ”

Today, Alice caught him in several wires by the neck. He was struggling, choking, face blue.

Blue, Bendy thought. He’d never seen that colour before.

It was beautiful.

“You poor little errand boy.” She cooed, but oh, they’d done this thousands of times before. Alice may not remember, but Bendy certainly did. Boris—wasn’t this Wally? He couldn’t quite remember, only that there were two Perfects of him, and Bendy didn’t even have a single one—had enough mind in himself to try and free Henry, but nothing was working.

There was nothing on him sharp enough to cut the wires, nothing to save the man already halfway towards death.

Maybe if he asked Boris to—

Boris kicked forward despite Alice’s grip on him, and pushed Henry off the edge of the platform desperately.

Henry gaped at him wide-eyed, and the next thing Bendy heard was the _snap_ of his neck.

There we go.

* * *

Sammy’s song for them today was a slow, intimate dance, one that let Bendy hold Henry close to himself, his lolling, loose head stuck to his shoulder thanks to the ink, and—

The fact that he wasn’t breathing or living anymore.

Bendy never really understood the compulsion to dance with Henry every time he could. He never understood why the heart inside his chest seemed to beat only for the corpse in his arms, but he did wish he could feel the warmth it wished to feel too.

Henry’s body was almost always dead when he found him. If he wasn’t done in by the Searchers or any other wandering Ink Creature, he was killed by either Alice, the Projectionist, or even Sammy, when he wasn’t being too careful.

Those times, at least, Bendy could take it out on them for breaking the rules, _especially_ the Projectionist. Not everyone seemed to learn, however.

Not that they would _remember,_ anyway.

Gently, Bendy lifted Henry’s head to look at his face, ink splotches staining his cheek from Bendy’s touch, and wondered what it was like to look at him without terror and exhaustion marring his face.

 _He’s beautiful,_ the heart whispered. _You should have seen him when he made you._

Bendy wished he knew who it was that always talked to him. That man who spoke from the squares Henry sidled up next to to listen to and look sad next to.

He wondered who it was—why the mere sound of his voice made Henry look so sad—no, _exhausted._

The heart never explained things like that. Bendy sometimes wished he could just tear it out, but then again, he wouldn’t know what would happen if he did.

So instead, he leans forward with his maw grotesquely wide open, to absorb Henry again.

* * *

Sometimes, he finds _Boris_ perpetuating Henry’s murder.

One Boris in particular—Tom, the old maintenance man.

(What a maintenance man _was,_ Bendy didn’t know, but the heart did.)

“ _You must be hungry._ ” He heard Alice—the _other_ one, Allison—say. “ _Here._ ”

As she always did, she would set down a plate of bacon soup, and she would walk away to have Tom follow her and look Henry in the eye.

Except today, Tom didn’t, and Bendy knew immediately why.

He could feel a little bit of himself in there. In the soup. Oh, it was happening.

Henry didn’t last long, but he didn’t exactly die instantly—not as quickly as anyone would have wanted to.

Ink poisoning was dangerous to humans, he knew—they _all_ knew, save for Bendy. All of them had been human, once, after all. From Sammy to Alice to the other Alice, and Tom.

Iron gall—he knew Henry used to use that for his art. The heart in his chest told him as much. It was a wonderful little bottle, with a skull and crossbones on it doodled by a chuckling Henry back when it was just him and **_Him_ ** sitting together in a quiet little room, knees touching, while Bendy was still just a smiling little drawing on paper.

He remembered— _imagined?_ —that day so well.

_“So, you think he’s any good?”_

_“Any good? You’re a genius, Henry!”_

_“That’s maybe laying it on a little thick.”_ Henry’s smile, his laugh—beautiful. Lovely, an illusion of living through a pair of lips that he wished he could touch.

The band on Henry’s finger kept him at bay. An angel’s halo, bound around him like a guardian angel, making Henry untouchable to a little inky-black demon like himself.

 _“But thanks.”_ Henry’s voice was soft. It was always so soft and kind, rarely raised in anger, wrapping so smoothly around unravelling genius like moths upon old scarves.

Around sarcasm, around avoidant speech. Humility, lovely and pure.

Oh, **He** loved Henry so much.

_“What’s his name?”_

Bendy.

Bendy knew very little about the flashes of thought the heart shoved in his head. He knew very little about his creator, about the world he lived in, but all he knew was the Ink, the Ink Machine, and how much the heart that beat in his chest loved this beautiful man he always felt like dancing with.

Henry drew so beautifully, but ink very rarely coloured the insides of humans as beautifully as it did Bendy’s insides.

He could feel it, though. The acid in the ink, the iron it carried with it—it tore through Henry’s delicate little insides, tearing out hoarse gasps and desperate grasps for air from his lips. He sipped the soup just the once, unaware that just beneath the surface lay pestilence and wrath, and oh, it was over as quickly as Rapture would. He writhed on the ground, next to the doodles he made of Bendy—the _pure_ form of his, not this _monster_ that he was—while he sat as Alice and Tom’s prisoner.

It took him a while to find him, but by the time he did, he couldn’t dance with Henry.

Sammy’s music rang unheard—unnoticed—while Bendy tore apart Tom and Allison limb from limb.

* * *

Sometimes, Bendy himself would catch him, and those were the times where the heart in his chest beat the hardest. Sometimes he could barely hear anything else—Henry’s panicked, horrified screaming, the thunderous sound of the ink that followed Bendy around flooding the room.

All he could hear was the heart thudding in his chest, the emotions it brought with to him running wild as his hands clamped over Henry’s delicate little body with enough force to snap him like a twig.

(Oh, but he wouldn’t snap. He doesn’t, not even when falling down an elevator shaft.)

When those happened, the music was thunderous. Not from useful little Sammy, not from the little recording squares Henry investigated, but from inside himself, angry and loud and so _desperate_ to get a hold of Henry that it could very much drive Bendy _wild._

And wild, he was, always dragging Henry backwards into his chest, against the wall, cackling loudly like it was the only thing he _could_ do.

“Gotcha!”

He didn’t always turn Henry around for this, but today, he just felt like it—

_—the heart told him to—_

To see him so terrified, in such _pain,_ oh, it was _something._

Henry only managed a gasp, struggling weakly in Bendy’s grip before Bendy slapped his hand over his nose and mouth, flooding his breath with the same ink that flooded Bendy’s lungs.

Choking, struggling, screaming, sobs.

The sobs always came last.

The tears that ran down his face unbidden, unheeded in his desperation.

There was pain, he knew. Bendy could feel it in the look in Henry’s eyes, the horrific way his body lurched and shuddered as he struggled to breathe.

Assimilating him would be unimaginably painful. Unspeakably so—breathing in ink that corroded your lungs, your throat.

Delicate, pulsating little organs. Precious, throbbing little heart.

Bendy could never stand to watch him struggle too long.

He opened his maw, and Henry struggled more, fighting until the end as he lurched forward to swallow him whole, his teeth only barely scraping the ink-stained back of Henry’s clothes, swallowing a warmth that he so longed to feel—

In his arms, around him—

 _Inside him,_ as he swallowed Henry whole, feeling him struggle against his throat before going deathly still.

Swallowing him whole always felt so _good._ He treasured those moments where he was so lost in himself that the monster roared louder than **His** heart, and hurt Henry more than loved him.

As he purred to himself, a dancing demon satisfied with a dance pleasing his insides, he cocked his head at his non-reflection in the inky darkness that always surrounded him.

Love, he thought. What—what was love?

* * *

He found one of Alice’s speaking-square boxes. The broken one—the one named Susie.

_“He kissed me after that. And then we went to his apartment. It was a wonderful time.”_

The heart inside his chest remembered that. It lurched with an emotion that felt _ugly,_ like a leer splitting a pair of lips.

 _She was easy,_ a whisper in his head, a voice not too different from the one in the boxes Henry listened to. _Way too easy to convince of things. Just like Sammy._

Sammy, Sammy. He remembered someone mentioning he was beautiful, once. Bendy had to agree with the heart that Henry was more beautiful, if only because the only Sammy Bendy had known was the monster.

A kiss, a touch of the hand, of heated skin.

Bendy wondered what that felt.

All he knew was the squirming, _screaming_ mass of the Ink—cold, cold _fear_ and _rage_ bubbling in the darkness. Even the heart seemed to agree it was terrible down there.

Maybe—maybe—

“You’ve got a date with an angel.” Alice purred over the speakers as Bendy watched Henry descend on the elevator, grip white-knuckled on the wrench he held as Boris stood behind him, silent. Afraid.

A date with an angel, she says—

But perhaps Henry would find a demon’s company more pleasant.

* * *

Alice had him fetch things, as was her wont around this time of the story. Bendy followed after him, standing at the top of stairways to wait until Henry was foolish enough to come wandering around the stairs instead of taking the elevator.

He caught him in an alcove before the turn to level K, panting in exhaustion, too tired to resist much as Bendy cornered him into the crevice between a desk and the wall, mere metres away from a Little Miracles station.

Henry eyed Bendy, the ink that followed the Demon around staining his clothes and his skin with the same ink that bled from blooming blue bruises that littered his arms, his legs.

The Butcher Gang had gotten to him at times, had they—Bendy would see to them later.

For now—

He cupped Henry’s cheek in his grotesque hand, slathering ink on the man’s cheek, and it made him flinch.

Love, he thought. The heart knows what it wanted, and all Bendy could do was follow.

He leaned forward and kissed him.

* * *

“Please—wait—stop—what are you—”

By himself, Bendy knew he wouldn’t have been able to do this.

The heart told him how to do everything—it felt like second nature, to tear at clothes, pulling aside suspenders and trousers, feeling warm, warm skin against his monstrous claws, his inky black skin.

Henry’s body shivered against his touch, heat rushing into cold as pink blossomed on his cheeks, dyeing his ink-smeared lips a beautiful rose colour that Bendy swiped his tongue over.

“Wh-huh?” Henry blinked, but that was all he managed before Bendy slipped his long, snaking tongue into his mouth, silencing him more effectively than when he choked him with ink. His hands—the monstrous one and the one covered with a glove—ran up the sides of Henry’s body, awed in a way he was sure he wouldn’t be if he didn’t have **His** heart beating inside of him.

 **His** heart led the way, the shepherd to the stumbling, blind sheep that was Henry—

That was Bendy.

His hands traced loving, reverent lines of ink over Henry’s body, shucking up his shirt, slicking up his legs with ink to get that sweet _shiver_ that rumbled under Henry’s skin like a purring machine. Henry’s hands scrambled for purchase on Bendy’s shoulders, gripping, though unsure whether to push away or to pull closer. Stuck there, like a deer in headlights as Bendy stole his breath, set fire to his blood in a touch that felt so sorely missed, despite everything.

Oh, it was desperate. It was horrifying.

But Henry _needed_ it.

He’d been alone for so long— _anything_ will do at this point.

Even the Dancing Demon himself.

Bendy released Henry’s throat with a tug from the heart, and Henry choked on the air he so desperately needed, but forgotten to fight for. He slumped forward, his whole front smearing with the ink that sustained Bendy’s form, coughing as the heart in Bendy’s chest simply _soared._

_Yes, that’s it. Make him ours. Love him tenderly._

Love him, it said. Love him, so cheerfully, like the way the heart spoke from the boxes in the administrator’s office.

 _Make him_ **_mine._ **

He gripped Henry’s thighs, splaying them open, and the man let out a little gasp.

“Bendy, wait—”

_No, call me—please, call me—_

Bendy didn’t know what he was doing. The heart knew what it was doing.

It was desperate—broken, almost, and the demon thrust up into Henry’s welcoming, _addicting_ heat.

“ _Bendy!_ ” Henry gasped, his back going ramrod straight, his hands gripping white-knuckled and painlessly into Bendy’s shoulders.

_No, not him! Me! You know who I am, old friend!_

Bendy’s eyes zeroed in on his throat—so vulnerable, soft and exposed like that, thrumming with a life he’d never seen from the man before. He opened his jaw to hear the sound of the voice in the heart hissing at him—

_Stop! No!_

Bendy sunk his teeth into where Henry’s neck met his torso, and the man let out a shuddering gasp, clenching around him so _sweetly_ as blood filled Bendy’s mouth.

Oh, it tasted like ink. The iron, the smooth flow of something fluid that was a lot like the alcohol solvent—it was so familiar, so close to home, that for a moment, Bendy almost thought that Henry was like him after all, made of ink and pain the way everyone else was.

But no, he wasn’t. Blood was different from ink.

It was warm, for starters, and it had the most beautiful red colour.

Henry shuddered again, going still, and warmth pooled between them.

White, this time, and Bendy wondered what life in technicolour looked like.

Instead, he kissed Henry again, this time without the heart’s prompting, and drank in his pants as he absorbed him into his body whole.

This time, Henry went without so much as a peep.

* * *

“What—what the _hell_ was that?” Henry pulled himself out of the puddle he was in, spawning in front of the Bendy statue as the elevator came rising up to meet him. Boris looked at him worriedly, and Henry shook his head, straightening himself up.

He just had sex with Bendy. That was it, right? That _was_ what happened.

God, it felt so _unreal._ Why did he even consent to that? Why did he give up so damn _easily_ like that?

“Was I really that desperate?” He muttered to himself, getting into the lift while Boris manned the buttons, shutting the gates around them with a cocked head at Henry.

The man gave him a weak smile, and pushed the button for level K for him.

No, it wasn’t quite the desperation. Yes, there was some part to it, and he was _sure_ Alice saw all that, somehow, because as they approached her level, he could hear her chuckling lowly, making Boris nervous as the wolf backed up to behind Henry, squeezing his shoulder.

“It’s okay, buddy,” Henry said softly to Boris, and faced the rest of the world with pink cheeks as he stepped out of the elevator.

“ _Someone had fun._ ” Alice drawled as Henry ignored her to time-in his card, muttering a sarcastic quip. “ _Tell me—do you miss him?_ ”

“I don’t think I’d particularly miss a giant monster who wants to eat me every time he sees me.” Henry said, and immediately regretted it when he realised the double entendre of that sentence.

Thankfully, Alice was either obtuse enough to miss it, or tactful enough to not mention it. Either way, she talked over him, opting instead to list off her next set of instructions for him to follow.

Grumbling slightly, Henry picked up the tommy gun, and as he was about to turn and leave, Alice spoke again.

“ _I meant Joey Drew._ ” She said, and Henry stopped in his tracks. “ _Do you miss him?_ ”

He considered her for a moment, and decided to keep walking.

“ _Avoidant._ ” She leered—or, at least, Henry could _hear_ the leer in her voice. “ _You know, even silence can speak a thousand words._ ”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve heard all but the one I wanted to say.” Henry replied, and walked on, cocking the tommy gun at the ready, before heading away from her room and into the elevator.

* * *

The heart in his chest wondered what Henry’s answer was—it wasn’t like Bendy could tear it out and listen to it the way the one in his chest did, but it was nice to try.

He’d tried it at least once after that, finding Henry’s sprawled corpse to the ground after being bludgeoned by the Butcher Gang or mauled by the Projectionist. He tried taking Henry’s heart, holding the bloody, dripping thing to his ear to listen for something— _anything,_ but there was nothing.

Only the heart in his chest could whisper to him, and oh, how _infuriating_ the thought was.

They danced around each other again and again, and when Henry had made it to **His** old throne, at one time, he had an axe with him. Henry split him open, found that beating little heart inside him, and promptly staggered back, choking up the bile that threatened to billow up his throat.

Not that the wounds were of much issue—axes do not take to ink as they do to firewood. Bendy could simply reform, as with many of the residents in this inky little world did.

Bendy weakly reached for Henry, pointing at the heart, and then at the speaking-box that carried the same voice as it, groaning softly.

If only he could talk like Alice could. Like Sammy could. If only he could tell him how much the heart had been driving him crazy—

“Joey?” Henry said shakily, lowering the axe, and Bendy insistently pointed it again, and then at the heart.

The heart loved him dearly, and Bendy could only follow, carried along like the currents of the ink that flowed through this place.

“J-Joey…” Henry fell to his knees in front of Bendy, the axe clattering to the ground, as Bendy reached for him to pull him into his arms. “Joey, is that… you?” he asked,

Somewhere along the course of Joey’s heart dragging Bendy along its currents, Bendy began swimming along it too.

Bendy hugged Henry close, and wished he knew how much he loved him as much as **He** did.

“What—what happened to you, what’s—”

Now, all Henry could focus on was **Him**. Time to absorb him, he supposed.

* * *

_How long will we keep doing this?_ Joey Drew asked, and Bendy looked back at him.

For as long as it takes, he replied, until the sky comes crashing down, until they day we stop loving him.

There was a smile in Joey’s voice as he spoke.

_Then this will never end. Just like you._

Bendy’s smile mirrored his creator’s, jagged and broken, as above them the Ink Machine lurched back to life.

Then so be it, he replied. To the end of time.

_To the end of time._

* * *

Bendy held up Henry again, this time bleeding from a wound in his jugular, a sharp, sharp needle of an ink extractor embedded into place like it belonged there, and the Demon lapped up his blood while Sammy played for them a lovely little tune.

A waltz this time, beautiful and romantic, and Bendy spun the lifeless Henry around the floors of Joey Drew Studios again, with all the glee of a madman.

They’ll dance, and dance, and dance, for all eternity.

* * *

Today, it was a foxtrot, a lovely little number from Sammy’s piano, and Henry had ink guzzling out of his mouth after being held face down into a pool of ink by a flailing Searcher.

He was so beautiful in the sepia light, and Bendy kissed him again before swallowing him whole.

* * *

“This is never gonna end!” Alice—Allison hissed, swinging around her bat, as Henry looked down the corridor where Sammy came from, panting.

“No,” he said, “Not until we put a stop to it.”

* * *

“A- _ah,_ Bendy, wait— _wait!_ ”

They were having sex on the throne now, Joey’s voice playing in the background over Henry’s choked gasps and moans while Bendy bounced him on his lap. The roar of the ink around them couldn’t drown out the roar of pleasure in Henry’s blood as pleasure built, the squelch of ink and blood between him and the Demon like a damning sentence shackling the both of them to the dark, dank depths far below ground where memories slept.

Joey’s heart thudded on, and on, as Henry looked up at the Demon, panting heavily.

“I’ll put a stop to this, I sw— _nngh!_ ”

Orgasm, this was orgasm, Joey’s heart taught him.

_Again._

* * *

This was never going to end. No matter how many times Henry said he would end it. No matter how many times he lashed out, broke his bones or got killed over and over again, there was no end to this, no way to break the cycle.

Time and again, Bendy would kill him, Bendy would fuck him, Bendy would die for him.

They would end and start over again and again, and this would never end. Whether it felt too good or too terrible to keep pushing, none of them knew, but the heart inside Bendy beat on the same way the heart inside Henry did, and time rewound itself like a broken record when the Demon’s darkness gave way to the light.

* * *

Let there be light, God said once, and the demons only chased after it like moths to a burning candlelight.

“Alright, Joey. What was it you wanted me to see?”

**Author's Note:**

> hi i love halloween...


End file.
